Tales From Gotham City Substory: Brian
by alanish2
Summary: Brian... a man who made mistakes, a man who had an ego... a man who just wanted to help. Tales from Gotham City is a group of interlinked stories which link together into one larger story.
1. Brian part 1

I sat in the station, hands cuffed, eyes down. Six hours I'd been there. Six hours they'd kept me sat here, like a common criminal, sat in the same chair in the same room. All I wanted was to _help_ people. Why couldn't they see that?

"So… Mr Douglas". The woman sat opposite me – the _cop_ – was writing things down. "You're to be released pending trial. It'll just take a minute to process you". She kept her face straight, but she was _laughing _at me. They were all laughing at me. They hadn't even let me get changed. I'd been sat in the middle of that crowded room in full costume since I got here, and every _single_ person who'd walked past had been laughing.

The handcuffs were unlocked – mercifully. I rubbed my wrists where they'd left deep marks. I looked at the woman, and I thought back to when he was sitting on the _other _side… when I was just like her. I'd turn my nose up at the _freaks_ and the _lowlifes_ that passed by, and I enjoyed tormenting them. Enjoyed feeling so superior. It wasn't until after I left that I saw how pathetic I'd been – I looked down on those people, but I was no better.

_We're trying to help you…_ Those words were going round and round in my head. How pathetic I had sounded, as though I was pleading with him… for what? For approval? In my head I'd had dreams of him joining our team… Anton, me and the _Batman_, all fighting Gotham's criminals together. Now that I look back on it, I feel so embarrassed… it was like a child's wet dream. I was no superhero. I was a fat, middle aged man in… _hockey pads_. I was lucky that I hadn't been killed that night.

I stumbled out of the police station, trying my best to ignore the people looking at me and laughing. I let my arms hang limply by my side, and I kept my eyes lowered. I thanked whatever gods were up there that my apartment was close by – at least I didn't have to suffer the embarrassment of walking through the middle of the city dressed in a Batman outfit for too long.

I shoved open the door to my apartment, walked in and collapsed on the couch. I pushed myself into the cushion, wanting it to swallow me up completely.

When Anton had come up with the idea to get a bunch of guys together and go out and fight crime, I knew it was stupid. Sure, I used to be a cop, but I was never a hero. I used to walk around the city doing my best to keep my head down. The small stuff, fine, I'd deal with that… but, I'm ashamed to say, I spent most of my time trying to avoid anything dangerous.

But Anton had this… crazy idea in his head, and he thought that, because I used to be a cop, I'd be the perfect person to lead the team. To give them the _benefits_ of my experience. And my _ego_ overrode my common sense. _Why can't I lead them_, I'd thought. _Why is he the only one who's allowed to put his life in danger every night? What's the difference between him and me?_

His voice echoes in my head now, answering that very same question. _I'm not wearing hockey pads…_

I buried my head in my couch and cried myself to sleep.


	2. Brian part 2

My sleep that night was restless. I kept seeing his face, looking down on me. I'd always thought that he would be… _different_ somehow. That he'd be able to understand me, be able to see past the _flabby _exterior and see someone who wanted to help.

But his eyes betrayed him – I knew then that he was just a man, like any other. And like the others he looked down on me, thought he was better or stronger or smarter than me.

I dreamed I was back in that parking lot. I figured I'd probably be dreaming about it a lot in the next few weeks. I felt the cold and the damp as though I was actually there. I felt the thrill of just… _watching_ them. The van pulled up a few minutes before the cars, but no one had gotten out. When the cars turned up – sheer black, tinted windows… you know, classic drug dealer cars – that was when things started getting interesting.

My heart was beating fast – too fast. My fingers were getting twitchy, and when you're carrying a shotgun that's a bad thing. We stayed in the shadows – I'm embarrassed to admit that I pretended I was a ninja, stalking a target. I could see the shadows moving to my left – Anton, no doubt getting a hard on by this whole thing, same as I was.

We watched as a group of men got out of the cars, dragging another man screaming and kicking with them. That excited me even more – not only were we about to take down a bunch of drug dealers, but we were going to rescue someone as well. This night was getting better and better.

"Look what your drugs did to my customers", I heard one of them say. Then the back of the van opened, and I felt the first pang of doubt. The guy that got out was wearing some kind of… mask. It looked like an old brown bag with eye holes cut into it, but at the same time it was also kind of… terrifying. And these _masked_ crazies… they were dangerous. Unpredictable. It didn't occur to me then that I was wearing a mask of my own. I'd officially _become_ one of the masked crazies I was looking down on.

Then, a noise to my left. Anton - or one of the others – had made a noise, and the drug dealers had heard it. Looking back… I'd bet my life that it _was_ Anton, and that he did it deliberately, to force the issue; he wasn't going to let us back out.

So we moved forward – I fired my gun at them, not really aiming – I wanted to _scare_ those people, as though panicked gun-fire could intimidate gangsters. Anyway, that was when things started to go bad. The Russian guy had brought dogs with him. Vicious dogs. One of them grabbed my leg, sunk its teeth deep into it. I screamed in pain, but the noise was drowned out by _him_ arriving.

His… _car_ just tore its way through a concrete wall, scaring the shit out of everyone there. The dog let my leg go, and ran away. But _he_ wasn't even in that car. He appeared out of nowhere, kicking the crap out of everyone – including us. I tried to sneak up on one of the drug dealers, trying to show the Bat that I was on his side. But he grabbed the gun, and with… _supernatural_ strength he just bent the barrel of my gun, and then he punched me in the face – hard.

The next thing I remember, I was in handcuffs, being dumped down on the floor next to the drug dealer that had been wearing the mask. He just left me there, treating me the same as those _criminals_. I tried to reason with him.

"We're trying to help you", I whined.

Then he fixed me with those eyes of his – those red, evil eyes. "_I don't need help_", he'd growled.

Then I asked the question. The question that had been burning in my head since Anton had suggested this whole thing: "What's the difference between you and me?"

He looked at me with… _contempt_. Like he'd just scraped me off his shoe. Like I was worthless. The way my ex-wife used to look at me, right before she ran off with the guy from across the hall.

"_I'm not wearing hockey pads…_"

And that was when I woke up, those words still ringing in my head. I was still on the couch, face down. I breathed in heavily, accidentally taking in all the dust and crumbs that I'd left on the cushions. I turned over, and that was when I saw him. A figure – just a shadow – sitting in the corner of my room, just watching me.

I was shocked – too shocked to speak. But it turned out I didn't need to, as the figure spoke first.

"Hiiii", it said.


	3. Brian part 3

I squinted my eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess from my restless sleep. The figure just sat there, unmoving… watching me. I turned over slowly and got myself into a sitting position. I stared at him for what seemed like minutes, trying to make out any features, and waiting for him to speak again. But he didn't… there was only silence.

Until I broke it. "Who the hell are you?" I shouted, trying to sound aggressive but instead coming across as hysterical. "What are you doing in here?"

The shadowy figure bristled, as though I'd disturbed it. But it stayed silent. I started to panic, and I dived over to the coffee table beside the couch and switched the light on. That was a mistake.

The man who had invaded my apartment was nothing like I expected. He was thin – scrawny, even. Normally I'd have been fairly confident of being able to handle him. It was his face… and his _eyes_ that scared me. His face was covered in white make-up, save for bright red lipstick smeared around his mouth, like a clown. His hair was dyed green, almost half-heartedly – the brown beneath it was showing through.

But none of those things were what my eyes were drawn to. No… my eyes went straight to the _scars_ on his cheeks. It looked like someone had stuck a blade in his mouth and cut up either side, and then stitched it up badly.

There was a moment – a horrible moment – when neither of us moved. He just _stared_ at me with those _eyes_, and I was too terrified to move. I don't know how long we sat like that, but it seemed like an age.

Then, suddenly – like a cat that had decided to pounce – he leapt forward, knife in hand, toward me. I felt his empty hand viciously grab the back of my head, holding me in place with strength that defied his slender frame. He brought his other hand – the hand holding the knife – towards my face, and I started to panic. What was he going to do to me? Was he going to slice me up? Cut out my eyes?

With my mind filled with horrors like that, it came as a relief – an actual _relief_ – when all he did was slide his knife gently into my mouth. I felt its sharp edge push against the side of my mouth, and my eyes widened.

Then he spoke – high pitched, almost whiney. Not what I expected. "Shhh", he said, soothingly. "Hey. Stay still". He pushed his knife harder against the side of my mouth, and I could feel it cutting the skin. I just stared into his eyes, terrified.

"Do you know how I got these scars?" he asked, almost as though we were just sat having a normal conversation. "I was like you… a normal guy who one day decided that he could be _more_ if only he'd just try harder. My wife – and my little girl – they tried to talk me out of it, said I was going to get hurt. But I didn't listen. I went out, and I tried to make a difference. All it did was get me _noticed_. One day, I came home to find some men – some _not very nice _men – waiting for me in my home. My wife's throat had been cut, but they waited until I got there before they killed my daughter. Right in front of me. I tried to fight them – to _hurt them_ – for what they'd done, but they just laughed. They laughed. And d'you know what they said?"

I shook my head slightly, not wanting the knife to cut any deeper.

"They said _'Why so serious?'._ _'WHY… SO… SERIOUS?'_ They told me I should see the funny side. And then they stuck the knife – the same one they used to kill my wife and daughter – into my mouth, and they did _this_ to me". He moved his head from side to side, giving me a clear look at the scars either side of his mouth. Was this psychopath about to do the same thing to me?

"But now I see the funny side", he said, a sick smile spreading across his face. "Now I can laugh about it". And he did. He laughed. Though it sounded more like a screeching hiss.

Then he leaned forward so that his mouth was barely an inch from my eyes, and he whispered. "We're going to play a game", he said. "You dress like him, so let's see if you can run like him. _I want you to run_".

And, as soon as he let me go, that's exactly what I did.


	4. Brian part 4

I burst through my apartment door into the corridor outside, with his laughter following closely behind me. All I could think about was finding someone – anyone – to help me, but there was no one in sight. I screamed and I shouted, and I banged my fists hard against every door I passed, but there was no answer.

Only the staircase greeted me, and I almost fell down it in my panic. I didn't even think to look behind me, to check if he was actually following me. Somehow I just knew that if I stopped, even for a moment, he'd be there, and he'd kill me.

As I reached the ground floor, my confused mind had managed to come up with a plan, of sorts – I needed help, and I needed it quickly. Anton lived just a couple of blocks down the road. Thinking back, I don't know what I thought he could do for me, but I needed someone.

I passed through the door at the bottom of the stairs and – despite myself – I had to stop. Mrs Lawson – my landlady – was sat in a chair, right in front of me. Her tiny frame sat limp against the wall, her faded green cardigan stained with red – her throat had been cut. It was the first time I'd seen a dead body up close – I used to be a cop, sure, but I mostly just handled routine stuff – domestics, assaults. Her empty eyes just _stared_ at me… _accusing _me. _If it wasn't for you…_

A car horn from outside shook me out of my shocked trance – I needed to keep running, to keep ahead of that… _thing_ that was chasing me. So I headed out into the street. My heart was already pounding hard in my chest… or maybe it was my feet that I heard, hitting the pavement. Either way, I wished then that I'd spent more of my time keeping in shape.

But Anton's house was almost in sight, and it occurred to me that maybe… just maybe… I had managed to escape from that crazed lunatic. I rounded a corner and entered the street that Anton lived in – a typical suburban village; big houses, big yards… nice cars. I slowed to a quick walk – not because I wasn't terrified anymore, but because I was worried that if I didn't slow down I'd have a heart attack.

As I looked over the big, new houses I wondered again why Anton would ever have wanted to risk his life doing the whole vigilante thing. His garden was bigger than my apartment, for god's sake. Did he really want to help people, or was he just bored with living in comfort? Was his life just _too safe_ for his liking?

Of course, I was close to condemning him, but I was no better. The only reason I joined in his insanity was because I wanted to feel like I meant something. I was tired of being _that fat guy in room 126_… and I wanted people to notice me.

By the time I'd reached Anton's front door I had slowed right down to a casual walk. I'd convinced myself that there was no one chasing me, and that I was safe. I even hesitated before I knocked – what would I say to him when he answered? _Hi, I thought there was someone chasing me but now I don't_? I'd sound like an idiot.

That was when I noticed that the door was already open. It looked as though someone had forced it – the hinges were snapped, and bit of the door were splintered off. I'd pushed it open and walked in before I had time to think it through – I went there to get _away_ from trouble, didn't I? But despite myself, I just didn't like the idea of someone I knew being hurt.

Anton's body was lying in wait for me. He'd been cut – badly. I covered my mouth in shock, and felt queasy at what I was seeing – the second dead body I had seen that night. A streak of blood led away from him and into his living room – it looked as though someone had dragged him from there. In a daze, I followed the blood.

_He _was waiting for me, with the same sickening smile on his face.

"Hiii", he said, and then everything went dark.


	5. Brian part 5

Nightmares. That's all I can remember afterwards just nightmares. I remember the boot of a car hot, cramped, hard to breathe. I remember that face staring down at me, no pity or mercy in its eyes. I remember trying to struggle my mind was groggy. He'd hit me with… _something_… and I couldn't focus. My arms had no energy.

I remember waking up in a car boot, bound and gagged, staring up at _him_ as he slammed the boot closed. I pleaded with my eyes, but he didn't take any notice. I heard the engine whirr into life, and felt the car move off. I can't say for sure how long I was in there or how far we drove, but it felt like hours.

My mind was slowly coming back to life, and the grogginess was lifting. While I lay curled up in the boot, I thought about many things. I was scared this… _monster_ who'd kidnapped me was insane, there was no doubt about that. By that point I had no doubt that he was going to kill me. But why? What had I ever done to him? Had he just picked me out at random, or was I part of some kind of twisted plan?

I thought a lot about Anton… I used to envy him. He had a wife, didn't he? And a daughter? I always wanted a family, but never found anyone who wanted one with me. That was part of the reason I followed him on his crazy nights out I wanted to know how this man could so easily get what I had been trying to have all my life. And over the months since I first met him, I grew to like him. I still don't know what makes him so different to me; we seem to have the same flaws, the same strengths…

I knew that I had been torturing myself seeing him so happy… it made me so angry, despite myself. I _hated_ him. And yet… when trouble found me he was the first the _only _person I ran to.

The image of his dead body filled my vision then, and I started to weep. I didn't want to end up that way… just a lifeless corpse on the cold hard floor. But what could I do? My hands were tied literally and so were my feet.

I manoeuvred myself around in the cramped space and wedged my feet against the lid of the boot. I started to push as hard as I could, trying to force the boot to open. When it didn't move even an inch, I began to kick against it, screaming as I did so. "HELP!" I screamed, as though anyone could hear me. "Help me, please!"

As though in response to my cries, the car shuddered to a halt. I froze, and strained my ears to listen. I heard the car door open and then slam closed, and heard footsteps moving around the side of the car towards the boot.

It opened suddenly, and I was blinded by light a flashlight, maybe. As my eyes struggled to adjust, I slowly made out the figure of a man stood over me. My heart fell as I realised that it was the same _psychopath_ who had attacked me before.

He stood over me, flashlight pointed straight at my face, with the same horrifying smile on his face. He held something else in his other hand, and it took me several moments to realise what it was; it was a video camera.

"Time to play", he sneered.


	6. Brian part 6

He pulled me out of the car boot and to my feet. He'd taken me to an old derelict building in what must have been an old industrial site. That meant we must have been on the outskirts of the city, so there was no one around to hear me if I cried for help. Not that I could, of course. Though I'd managed to rip the gag from my mouth while I was in the boot, he quickly wrapped it back around after he'd dragged me out.

He pulled me by the hair inside the nearest building. Its walls were covered in grime and cobwebs, and it smelled as though people had been using it as a toilet. I felt nauseous as soon as we got inside, which was made worse by the horrible fear that had been brewing in the pit of my stomach. He still held the knife in his other hand, which still had a trickle of the blood from my mouth on its blade.

It's strange… normally I didn't notice the little things in the places that I went, but for some reason being in mortal fear made my senses sharper. I saw each strand of the spider webs in the corners of the rooms, I heard the drip of every leaking hole in the ceiling… and I heard the bastard who was doing this to me laughing under his breath. And it made me _angry_… an anger that, for a moment, overwhelmed the fear.

I leapt at him from behind, hands and feet still bound. He fell to the floor, obviously surprised that I'd mustered the courage to fight back. The knife flew from his hand and slid across the floor, out of both our reaches. I knew that without his knife he was more vulnerable, but without my hands he still held the advantage. My only chance was to keep on him… he had been surprised, but if I didn't keep going at him then he'd quickly recover.

I dived on top of him, bringing my bound hands down on his face over and over again. I didn't notice at the time, but now I remember that I was screaming through my gag, a muffled, wordless cry that went on for who knows how long. I hit him again and again, until his face was bloody and that make-up he wore was all but wiped clean. And, underneath it, he was just another man… just a _thug_, nothing more. _Scum_. There was no reason for me to be afraid of him.

But my advantage didn't last long. His knee hit me in the privates, and I crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain. For a few moments he lay on the floor where he was, panting, trying to catch his breath. And then he stared…_ laughing_. No words, just a horrible, grating laugh.

And then it was his turn…

After he'd finished beating the crap out of me he calmly walked over to where his knife had fallen and scooped it up. He waved it at me… not threateningly, but like a mother might wave something at a child if they weren't supposed to be playing with it.

"Now…" he said in his whiney voice. "That… was… _naughty_". Then he smiled at me and carried on dragging me by the hair, along the floor now, towards the back of the building.

We finally stopped inside a small, dark room. It had a single small window on one of its walls, and a chair at its centre. The walls were peeling, and it seemed that this room hadn't been used in years… maybe decades.

He dragged me into the chair. Though the pain from his knee was fading, my struggling was in vain… he now held his knife close to my face, so that I could see it clearly, as a warning against any other attempts at escape.

When he was satisfied that I was tied down tight enough, he walked to the door. "I'll be _right back_", he said menacingly, and then he left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I tried to struggle against the rope around my hands and legs, but they were tied firm, and the chair must have been bolted into the floor so there was no way to roll onto my side. I thought maybe if I rocked backwards and forwards enough I might be able to loosen the screw, but I didn't have chance to try it.

He marched back into the room, his makeup reapplied to his face. In fact, you could hardly tell that I'd been hitting him as hard as I could just a few minutes before. He stopped just in front of me and pulled something out of his pocket. It was my Batman mask… he must have picked it up from my apartment. Why had he brought that here? He leaned forward and wrapped the mask around my face.

"Now…" he said slowly. "We're going to have a little… _interview_". Then he lifted the video camera he had been carrying up and started to record, pointing it straight at me.

"Tell them your name", he demanded.

My mind was still struggling to figure out what was happening. Was this sick bastard going to kill me on camera? I decided that it wouldn't be a good idea to keep quiet for too long. "Brian... Douglas", I answered slowly.

"Are you the real Batman?" he asked in his nasal voice.

"No". Was this all because I was dressed up as Batman? Did this psychopath have some kind of vendetta against him? Just what had I gotten myself into?

"No?" he said mockingly. "No? Then why do you dress up like him?" He grabbed the mask on my face viciously and ripped it away from my face. He dangled it in front of the camera like it was the stupidest thing in the world.

My mind didn't know how to answer his question… _why do you dress up like him?_ Because he's famous, and I want to be famous too? Because my life is so pathetic that I have to pretend to be someone else every night?

Unfortunately, my mouth answered for me. "Because he's a symbol that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you". Did I really believe that? Did I _ever_ believe that? I was just a thrill seeker who ended up getting himself in much deeper than he thought he could.

I could see in his eyes that my answer had angered him… the first time he'd acted as though this wasn't some big joke. He grabbed my head roughly and turned it so that I was looking in his eyes. "Oh you do, Brian", he said. "You **really do**". Then his face fell back into it familiar emotionless expression. "Oh shh, shh, shh, shh, shh", he said while stroking the side of my face. It was a comforting gesture, but it just made me even more terrified of him.

"So, you think Batman's made Gotham a better place? Hmm? Look at me", he said, and when I couldn't bring myself to look at him he grabbed my hair and forced me to. "**LOOK AT ME****". **Then he turned away, bringing the camera up so that he was looking directly into it. "You see?", he said into it, talking to an imaginary audience. "This is how _craaaazy_ Batman's made Gotham! You want order in Gotham? Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Oh, and every day he doesn't, people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word".

Then, with a sudden burst of his sickening laughter, he dove onto me, bringing his knife down on me again… and again… and again. I screamed as I felt its blade pierce my skin over and over again. The camera had fallen to the floor, facing away. For some reason this comforted me… at least people wouldn't see me die.

I felt my life draining out of me as I stared up at his sick, grinning face… it was clear he was enjoying my murder. As my vision started to go dark, my last thoughts were of regret… regret that there was no one left to mourn me… regret that I hadn't ever had a family… regret that I had ever tried to make a difference.

And then I died.


End file.
